


Uneasy Acquaintances

by QuickSilverFox3



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Friendship, Gen, M/M, Misunderstandings, Murder Mystery, Slice of Life, Vimes has GDE (Grumpy Dad Energy), acquaintances to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 01:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20219269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: “Mr Drumknott will help you.”Vimes was already three steps away from the Patrician’s desk, files dropped off, support wrangled from him following a lengthy argument. His mind had already turned from the feelings of disgruntled annoyance Vetinari elicited in him by the time the full impact of the words hit him.---Vimes and Drumknott have to solve a murder. Nothing could possibly go wrong.





	Uneasy Acquaintances

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by chat about Vimes & Drumknott friendship on the discord. Massive thanks to Em and Manny for betaing <3

“Mr Drumknott will help you.”

Vimes was already three steps away from the Patrician’s desk, files dropped off, support wrangled from him following a lengthy argument. His mind had already turned from the feelings of disgruntled annoyance Vetinari elicited in him by the time the full impact of the words hit him.

“Mr Drumknott?”

Vimes slowly pivoted, drawing himself up to his full height[1] and turned to stare at the Patrician’s clerk. The young man paused in the doorway between the two rooms, files carefully tucked under one arm. He was small, looked far younger than he was and just seemed soft and malleable with his pink cheeks and his head of blonde curls. The glance that he cast Vimes’ way could be described as nothing short of chilling[2], before Drumknott shifted his gaze to the Patrician, nudging his glasses further up his nose with his free hand. Idly Vimes wondered if it was a skill taught to all Palace staff before they were able to interact with the Watch.

“Of course, my lord. I’d be delighted.”

  * ••

Murder wasn’t an action Drumknott contemplated very often[3]. Now, however, as he walked along the streets of Ankh-Morpork in Commander Vimes’ wake, glaring daggers at the back of his swiftly disappearing head, he deemed murder to be an appropriate form of stress relief. His shoes clicked against the stones as he ran the numbers in his head, briefly and idly contemplating a life where he had stayed and helped his sister with the family business before discarding it as laughable. He loved Wendy fiercely, but a shopkeeper’s life was not something he could have handled for long; his own proclivities would have driven him to madness long before now.

Drumknott’s face didn’t change from the stony impassiveness he favoured as he pulled up Vimes’ file from deep in his memory. He could almost feel the weight of it in his hands, smell the ink as the older sections threatened to disintegrate. As much as he was loath to admit it, Vimes was the best man for the job and Drumknott was more than suited to accompany him. 

The Commander didn’t seem to share this belief as Drumknott couldn’t even see the top of his helmet through the crowd now, even if he raised himself up to balance on his toes[4]. It was typical of men in authority to overlook those below them, so why would he expect Sam Vimes to be any different in the end[5]? It rankled, after the care and consideration of Vetinari, something everyone was aware of, but no one would admit to[6]. But for now, he would obey Vetinari’s wishes, he followed Sam Vimes through Ankh-Morpork to the scene of the murder. This murder was unusual in a city of unusual murderers. That alone set Vetinari’s teeth on edge, not in a way that anyone else would notice, but was evident to Drumknott in the blend of tea the Patrician craved. It needed solving quickly, and if that meant working with Vimes, he would do it.

  * ••

“Ma’am,” Vimes grunted, nodding his head at a neighbour, the lady defiantly nodding back as she continued to peek out from behind one twitching curtain. The cobbles on this street were worse than usual, new potholes seeming to appear every day, but unfortunately there was nothing he could do at this time. Sybil would know what to do; she could navigate the complex, twitching world of politics far better than he did[7].

Vimes strode past the Watch officer on duty, nodding to the young man and taking mental note of his faintly greenish complexion. The initial reports had been suitably horrific, conjuring images in Vimes’ mind that he would never be able to unsee.

“If you need to head back to the Watch House, call for a replacement first,” Vimes said gruffly, pausing on doorstep long enough for the man to shakily nod his head, eyes almost crossing with the effort. And then Vimes was in the house, staring at the murder scene as his blood ran cold. Copper infused the very air, a solid mass he had to shoulder his way through to inspect the bodies.

Something was wrong here, something about the positioning, something about the victims. Vimes frowned, fingers itching to light up a cigar, eyes darting around the room. He knew the answer lay just out of reach, mocking him.

“Magic.”

Vimes growled, whirling on his heel to see Vetinari’s pink faced clerk staring up at him, straightening up from where he had been inspecting the bodies, leaning around Vimes to get a better view as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He blinked at Vimes, shoulders relaxed, hands clasped in front of him, looking for all the world like he was out on a pleasant evening stroll around the Palace Gardens, instead of standing inches away from pools of blood.

“How’d you even get in here?” Vimes snarled, half to himself, casting a concerned look out of the doorway where he could see the nervously rattling sword of the young Guard knocking against the door frame.

“Back passage. Three of the houses on this street were equipped with them on a whim of the architect at the time. He didn’t trust anyone, so he built himself a few bolt holes. Over time, they’ve become run down and used as extra room, allowing me to walk in that way, same as our killer.”

Where had Vetinari found this man? He looked like he’d strolled one day fully formed out of the Guild of Clerks, but his accent held an undercurrent of something rougher, like Willikins. Drumknott was a mystery who was contending with a slightly more urgent mystery, so Sam Vimes filed that away to inspect closer at a later date when he wasn’t being confronted with unusual murders.

“Thanks,” he grunted, glancing down the small hole in a wall, easily mistaken for a storage space Drumknott had indicated.

  * ••

What happened next happened very quickly and was reported incorrectly by each of the four persons who viewed it[8]. Vimes moved, shoving Drumknott out of the way as a mysterious magical bolt crackled and exploded right where the clerk had previously been standing, the man turning on Vimes like an angry cat hissing at the owner who had just dumped it in a bathtub. Immediately that anger was redirected, a blade plucked from Vimes’ belt and thrown towards the would-be (and four times successful) murderer, who was only beginning to realise who he had attacked when the knife hit his shoulder. Vimes hit his face, knocking him through the wall he had been hiding in.

“Sir?” The young Watch man poked his head into the door, eyes widening at the sight of the Patrician’s clerk standing in the middle of the bloody scene. His hand clutched at a deep burn on his forearm and he glared up at Vimes, who was covered in a fine dust of plaster and standing over a groaning, semi-conscious man in tatty wizards’ robes.

“Fine police work lad,” Vimes panted, a grin slipping across his face, “Get some men down here and send a clacks to the University. One of theirs, I think.”

Vimes looked at Drumknott, hand tapping over the empty space in his belt where his concealed dagger had once been.

“Not bad, Mr Drumknott.”

Drumknott straightened, face paler than it had been by a few shades, and inclined his head.

  * ••

“Vimes said you were invaluable today, Drumknott,” Vetinari said mildly, resting his chin on one palm as he watched the backs of Drumknott’s ears flush red, “Am I going to have to worry about him stealing you away?”

Drumknott wheeled around, protests gathering on his tongue and then dying away when he saw the amused smirk on Vetinari’s face, an expression that would have terrified lesser men.

“No, my lord, I’ve seen his office. No number of compliments could coerce me into that room,” Drumknott sniffed derisively, setting the cup and saucer down carefully. He was halted by Vetinari’s hand locking around his wrist like a viper, moving so fast Drumknott hadn’t even seen him twitch.

“I am well my lord, nothing that won’t heal, thanks to Commander Vimes.”

“I dislike seeing you hurt,” Vetinari said softly, grip shifting to lace his fingers with Drumknott’s, and gently pressing a kiss to his hand even as Drumknott’s head spun.

“I’ll try my best my lord.”

Vetinari chuckled, thumb rubbing against the back of Drumknott’s hand.

“I will hold you to that.”

[1] At five foot four, Vimes was not a physically tall man but he carried himself tall. It was often a surprise to others when it dawned on them that they had to look down to meet the eyes of the Commander of the Watch, though he made up for it with a killer left hook.

[2] Drumknott was nothing if not professional to a point. Occasionally that point would be the tip of a concealed knife or a freshly sharpened quill. It varied.

[3] It was contemplated sometimes, generally on Vetinari’s request. However personally, Drumknott found murder to be… an untidy way of dealing with a problem, even if it was effective in multiple circumstances. It was a factor of life given that he was, after all, personal clerk to Patrician, a man who had no fewer than three attempts on his life every week. Sometimes Vetinari wouldn’t even have to organise them himself.

[4] Vimes carried himself tall. Drumknott carried himself small. Drumknott was the type of man to fade into the wall when he wasn’t required, an excellent skill for a clerk and something Vetinari appreciated. This was helped by the fact that he was a short man, and unlikely to find anyone in a crowd without balancing on his toes, something he refused to do in public.

[5] Somewhere, somehow Equivocarse, Goddess of Getting Things Completely Wrong at First Impressions was laughing and enjoying the chaos she had created with a nice red wine and a platter of tiny cheeses.

[6] Vetinari was a Tyrant (the capital was well deserved), but he was a considerate one, not that anyone would admit it for fear of breaking the illusion. Servants who happened to be going through hard times found their pay raised, or even extra food slipped into their cupboards, if the Dark Clerks were feeling bored. This was never mentioned or even alluded to, but everyone in the Palace knew.

[7] Sybil was an accomplished politician able to talk her way around a dissenter in circles until they were equal parts agreeing with and apologising for ever doubting her. However, that occasionally took too long and then she would get to break out her favourite political move. There was nothing that wrapped a meeting up faster than Lady Sybil Ramkin-Vimes showing up carrying a half grown dragon in her arms, hair already scorched on one side and a determined set to her jaw that suggested she wasn’t afraid to use said dragon to prove a point.

[8] Not on purpose, as Drumknott took those sorts of allegations very seriously and would have some vaguely violent words with the accuser if Sam Vimes hadn’t got to them first for calling his professionalism into question. In truth, it was human nature. In the presence of magic, everything got a bit confusing. Just ask any half-decent wizard (and Rincewind does not count).


End file.
